So, having a hard time processing that premiere. BIG TIME SPOILERS for 3x01. The quotes from the 3x02 promo did all sorts of awful things to me. If you think about it, Oliver Queen has never had a real chance to grieve any of the people he has lost. And he has probably never had the comfort of someone comforting him while he grieved. So yeah, angst fest.

Oliver sat with his back against a pillar on the foundry, the cold of the floor numbing him as the darkness enveloped him, wishing the cold and the dark would numb the physical pain. He balanced his bow between his hands, trying not to think of Sara laying on the med bay table not twenty-four hours before, eyes staring unseeing to the ceiling, with three black arrows sticking out of her stomach. He tried not to think about Laurel's face a few hours ago as she had unloaded an entire clip into the hooded assassin known as Komodo. He knew that look, recognized it from the face he had seen in the mirror for a long time. The face of someone who had lost hope in justice and righteousness; the face of someone who had killed in cold blood. He still remembered how it had felt that first time, when he had bashed that man's head in with a rock on the island. . . the way the blood had sprayed against his face and covered his hands, but he just hadn't been able to stop. It had felt too good to release the rage and the anger. The one thing he had managed to not destroy in Laurel, her sense of justice and righteousness, was now washed away along with her innocence and trust. His fault. Sara was dead, really dead, along with Shado and Yao Fe, Tommy, his mother, his father, Maseo and his entire family. . . the list would never end. He knew that the longer he fought, the longer he continued, the more people he would lose.

The list of people he could lose was getting ridiculously short. He remembered the ghost of Shado's voice. "Lay down your bow. Quit fighting. Or everyone you love will die." The first time he had sat against this pillar after returning home, it had been the realization that for the first time in years, he had things to lose again. It had been three months after he had come home, and he was recovering from his first meeting with Malcolm Merlyn. Of course, he hadn't know it was Merlyn then, he had known him simply as the Dark Archer. Merlyn had bested him, and had it not been for Diggle getting him to a hospital, he probably would have died. It hadn't been his first brush with death, but it was the first time in a long time that he realized his dying would affect people. His family had just gotten him back, and they would lose if he died. He had something to lose. And that had scared the shit out of him. That knowledge had nearly immobilized him with fear on his first night back under the hood, and he had sat in this very spot ruminating on that. It had been John who had pulled him out of it, that time. "You can either have something to fight for, or not. Something to fight for is better."

The next time he had sat against the pillar was three months later, and it had been Felicity who had found him. That had been the night he had realized that Diggle had been right, and that his mother was complicit in his step-father's disappearance. The night that he had realized his mother may have played a part in the accident aboard the Queen's Gambit. Felicity had come into the darkness of the lair and flipped on the light, doing as he asked and giving him the information he needed to do something with the anger, the rage, the loss of trust . . . she gave him a way to channel the despair into good. She helped him bring Walter home. When he hadn't been able to cope with his failure in stopping the Undertaking and saving Tommy, she had eventually come to bring him home. Bit by bit, she slowly helped him find himself again.

It had been both she and Dig that had come to find him the next time he was sitting against a pillar, but it hadn't been this one. It had been at his secondary location, the one he had kept secret from all of them, on the off chance of a betrayal. His mother was dead, and he was certain that the time had come to give himself over to Slade. He had lost everything, and he had accepted it was finally time for him to die. "You can't just accept things, Oliver," Felicity had pleaded with him. But it hadn't mattered. He didn't just accept it, he had welcomed it. And so he had squeezed her hand and walked away. It wasn't until later, on the return home from Lian Yu, that he remembered what he had told her after she had spilled the information about Thea. "You're not going to lose me." He had gone back on that and walked away from her, but she and John had still come after him. They refused to accept his fate, and they fought along side him. Loyal and brave to a fault. Against all odds, they had won, and he had finally felt like the hero she saw him to be.

He didn't feel like a hero now, though. He came full circle in his thoughts, and wished to hell he hadn't. Because now there was nothing but the pain and despair and darkness again. There was nothing to do now. They had taken Komodo down, although they did not who had hired him. And someone had hired him, he had hinted at that before Laurel unloaded the entire clip into him. They didn't know why Sara was in Starling, and they didn't know why Komodo had gone after Palmer. Komodo was dead, and Sara was dead, and Laurel was asleep in her apartment with her father keeping watch, thinking that his daughter was upset because she had been in an altercation involving the Arrow. Quentin Lance had no idea his younger daughter had been lost to him a second time.

He heard the door at the top of the stairs click open, and the soft pad of small feet down the stairs. Felicity flicked on the small lamp she had put on her desk when he had started sleeping in the lair. He closed his eyes against the intrusion of the soft light, not entirely ready for whatever was to come next. She made him feel . . .things. Too many things. Things he couldn't afford to feel. Things he had forgotten about. He felt her move in front of him, and opened his eyes to look at her. She squatted down, dressed in black sweats and a too-big MIT t-shirt. Behind her glasses, her eyes were red rimmed from crying and her hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail. She reached out with one hand and took the bow out of his hands, using the other to slowly push down his hood, softly saying his name. He hadn't even realized he still had it up. Her hands lingered on his cheek, and he turned his head ever so slightly into her warmth, feeling all the things he was pushing down bubbling to the surface as she touched him. Her eyes searched his and she swallowed, standing up quickly to put the bow in its case.

"I couldn't sleep either," she said softly, collecting his sweats and hoody from over by the bed. "Every time I closed my eyes . . . I still can't believe she's gone, Oliver." She pushed the clothes into his hands. "Here." He did as she asked, heading to the bathroom to strip off the green leather in favor of the sweats. When he came back out, he found her in his vacated spot, knees pulled up to her chest. She scooted over slightly, patting the space next to her. "I don't know how you slept on the floor. Its cold and hard . . . "

"I've slept in worse places," he said softly, sinking down next to her, just close enough that their shoulders and hips touched. Where before there was cold and darkness, now there was warmth and light. He felt those things clawing their way from his chest and up towards his throat. He settled back and watched her, trying to press things down. He remembered what he had told Felicity earlier. "I don't have the luxury of falling to pieces." Except now, for the moment, it was over. There was nothing for him to do. But grief wasn't something he had let himself deal with in a very long time.

She leaned her head back against the pillar, scrubbing her hands over her eyes under her glasses. "I can't imagine going through this more than once, Oliver. You lost her three times. THREE TIMES. Laurel lost her twice. Detective Lance . . . "

She turned her head and looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, the pain of Sara's loss evident in her eyes. And that was all it took. Everything welled over, and everything came to the surface. He heard a scream, and knew it was his own as his vision blurred. Felt the infinitesimal bite of his nails as they dug into his fists, felt the cold hardness of the pillar as he brought his head back against it. Felt her arms around him, pulling him toward her as he finally let the grief overwhelm him. Because he hadn't really grieved for any of them. Grieving was yet another part of himself he had shut off a long time ago. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had someone comfort him. He figured it was probably his parents, over something stupid and foolish he had done as a teen. He had comforted Thea plenty of times. He let the walls fall away and let it overwhelm him. His father, who had died so he could live. Tommy, who had died so Laurel could live. His mother, who had died so that he and Thea could live. Yao Fe, who had died for him and Shado and Slade. Shado, who had died so that Sara could live. Sara, who had died because the world was unfair. He heard her talking to him, soothing him, as it poured out, felt her touch as the years of pain came out. Sara was gone. Added to an evergrowing list of people he lost. Because here, with her, he finally felt safe enough to let it overcome him.

"What if the storm ends?
And I don't see you
As you are now
Ever again
The perfect halo
Of gold hair and lightning
Sets you off against
The planets last dance
Just for a minute
The silver-forked sky
Lift you up like a star
That I will follow
But now it's found us
Like I have found you
I don't wanna run
Just overwhelm me"

-The Snow Patrol, What If The Storm Ends